


Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

by ashilrak



Series: Unrelated Hamilton Soulmate AUs [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Wings, Canon Era, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7808983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/pseuds/ashilrak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He went home, and enlisted in the continental army. His skills with french and his education put him in the prime position as an aide-de-camp under General Washington himself. John was grateful. He might have been itching for a fight, but he knew that it wasn’t yet his time. He was planning on staying on this green earth until he had tasted his soulmate’s lips at least once.</p><p>Wings were a point of pride and vanity for most people, and yet Washington made it a point to have his men bind their wings while at work. He said it prevented distractions, potential embarrassments, and connections being exploited by spies. It bothered John to have his wings strapped to his back under his coat day after day, but war wasn’t meant to be comfortable.</p><p>He was very grateful for that particular instruction when he was introduced to his newest fellow aide: Alexander Hamilton."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Perches In The Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Hope Is The Thing With Feathers" by Emily Dickinson

Their wings were one of god’s great gifts, or so John’s father had always said.

They were functional and they were beautiful, and they held the key to what truly made life worth living: your soulmate. 

Your soulmate was that one person who filled in all the holes you never knew were there. 

There were philosophers and poets who had written and thought about how letting your soul mate in made you weak - about how soul mates were merely an illusion created based on coincidence in order to cure the loneliness that was a part of the human condition. After all, how could one truly blossom into their own being if they were relying on another in all ways. How could you truly explore yourself and how you react to different situations and the extremes that life brings if you always have a crutch with you in the form of a person meant to love you no matter the circumstances.

Colors weren’t the most reliable form of identification, and yet that is what people based entire relationships on. 

John had always seen the reason behind such arguments - there were so many people with the same colored eyes, and when combined with the idea that one can learn to love and accept anyone, it made sense. It was the kind of logic that ripped into faith and hopes and dreams - the cruel, cold logic that humanity both valued and detested.

His father had always scorned such schools of thought - he believed that it was a feeling in your soul that told you whether or not you had actually found your soulmate rather than just falling for a trick of light. 

John believed that such an instances was less likely to occur in his case, but he still wanted to believe his father’s description of the peace and knowledge in his very soul when he met John’s mother. 

His wings were the most beautiful and unique shade - a deep and bold violet blue.

His wings had emerged when he was ten years old, a normal and respectable age. There were superstitions tied to when your wings came out, and terrible tales told of children whose wings broke free on the third day of the first month of their thirteenth year. They said that the wings would come out black and leathery, instead of gleaming with rich brown feathers. The families would kick the children out of their home for fear of what they might bring with them, and the children would grow to match their wings as they fended for themselves in the dark woods, preying on those who found themselves off the trail.

John never held much stock in those tales, but he knew that his cousin had spent days in agony because her mother had wrapped her torso to prevent her wings from breaking free of their confines because it had been too close to the third for his aunt’s comfort.

He was fortunate in that he didn’t have to deal with that. He went to sleep one night with an aching back, and woke up cocooned in darkness. His brother had screamed upon waking - and John supposed he could understand. It must have been strange to wake up with feathers tickling your face when before there had been nothing there.

John loved his wings. Not only did they mean his search would probably be the slightest bit easier, but they were beautiful. Now, there was absolutely nothing wrong with a solid deep brown wing - there was a comfort to be found in the velvet darkness. But those dark earth tones didn’t strike quite the same chord as the sapphire hue of his own.

They weren’t just blue, and they weren’t just purple. They were all sorts of different colors, and at night they gleamed navy. The feathers seemed to be an almost metallic silver at the tips, which gave his wings a rather stormy appearance when seen from a distance. They made John stand out, and he was okay with that. He made the extra effort to coordinate his clothing - there was something about a navy blue that melted into them that he loved, and silver buttons brought out the sparkling effect.

Everywhere he went people commented on them, and he’d had several people tell him that his future wife was either going to be a beauty straight from the old tales, or completely hideous with only her eyes to make up for it.

John prided himself on the depth of which he knew his own heart. His soul mate was going to be beautiful - maybe not so much in looks, but their mind was going to be stunning. It had to be. John knew he wasn’t going to deserve whoever the fates had gifted him with, but deep down John knew that every moment with them was going to be spent in awe. That wasn’t what John was worried about - he had prepared himself for being unable to fathom the existence of his soulmate long ago when he had first delved into the world of poetry - John was worried because he knew his soulmate was going to be a man.

He knew it the same way others had the inkling that their future spouse was going to be blonde and blue eyed, or tall and waifish. John knew his preferences, just as John knew his father would refuse to acknowledge him should he let them be known. 

He was fourteen years old when he decided he’d find someone with blue eyes and somehow wrangle it so that his father believed he found his soulmate, leaving him free to continue his life and search as he desired. 

John was presented with the perfect opportunity while in London. He had his mother’s hazel eyes, which while people have said they were quite striking, made it much simpler to pass of anyone’s wings featuring shades of brown and green as his match. Martha Manning was a girl he had found a friend in. She had confessed to him that she had found her soulmate, but with him had come a not-so-nice reputation. 

Martha’s eyes were a grey-blue, and there was a local family who had eight daughters all with grey eyes. Her soulmate, James, had tried his hand at each of the daughters - having his way with them before saying he didn’t feel the spark. 

The daughters were all doomed to never marry, even if they did find their own soulmates, for they had “allowed” themselves to be defiled in such a manner.

John was more than willing to step up to the plate should James come calling, and so that is what he told Martha. James did come calling, and so John married Martha. He told her about his own situation, and she was more than willing to let him continue his own search in return for potentially saving her life. They consummated the marriage. Afterwards, John felt terrible. He wrote his father of the situation, safe in the knowledge that Henry Laurens would never meet Martha. 

John Laurens knew that London wasn’t where he was meant to be. In his letters from home he kept hearing of the unease spreading through the colonies, and in London he was hearing the rumors of different uprisings in New York. John Laurens was being drawn back home, and even Martha’s announcement of her pregnancy couldn’t hold him back.

He went home, and enlisted in the continental army. His skills with french and his education put him in the prime position as an aide-de-camp under General Washington himself. John was grateful. He might have been itching for a fight, but he knew that it wasn’t yet his time. He was planning on staying on this green earth until he had tasted his soulmate’s lips at least once.

Wings were a point of pride and vanity for most people, and yet Washington made it a point to have his men bind their wings while at work. He said it prevented distractions, potential embarrassments, and connections being exploited by spies. It bothered John to have his wings strapped to his back under his coat day after day, but war wasn’t meant to be comfortable.

He was very grateful for that particular instruction when he was introduced to his newest fellow aide: Alexander Hamilton.

He’d recognize that shade of blue anywhere, and apparently so did Washington, judging by the glint in his eye when introductions were made. He was to be sharing a tent with Hamilton, as all the others were already full.

His father had once commented that under his stern exterior, Washington had a wicked sense of humor. If this was his brand of comedy in action, John wasn’t so sure he was a fan. 

Most men unbound their wings and spent some time letting them stretch and breathe before settling down for the night. John had always done this in the privacy of his tent. For the first time since walking into camp, John wasn’t so sure wanted to. 

Alexander certainly had no qualms about it. 

He had stayed up working particularly late that night, hoping that Hamilton would have fallen asleep by the time he went to the tent. Instead John walked into the tent and was greeted with the sight of a shirtless Alexander with his hazel wings spread out in all of their glory behind him. For such a tiny man, his wingspan was most impressive. His chin was raised, and there was a sparkle in his eyes, and a hint of arrogance in his posture. 

Alexander knew. How, he wasn’t quite sure. His eyes certainly weren’t that unique. Maybe John hadn’t quite masked his surprise, or perhaps Washington had hinted at it. John didn’t know, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was much more focused on figuring out how to handle the situation. 

Alexander Hamilton was beautiful, and he knew it. From what little time John had spent with him in a public setting, it was obvious that the man had intellect exuding from every pore. This was a deadly combination, and one that John was particularly susceptible to. He had never been so silly as to try to assign a face and figure to his fantasies, but if he had, it would be the one that was right in front of him.

When John was beckoned closer by a crook of the finger, John acted accordingly. The closer he got, the more the confident facade faded from Alexander’s shoulders. 

For someone with whom he had never held an actual conversation with, John was extremely comfortable standing between Alex’s legs with Alex’s hands on his chest. There was something nice about being this close, the feeling of something slotting into place - making him more aware of the hole in his soul he knew Alexander was meant to fill.

For the first time John understood. He might not know Alexander yet, but their connection was already palpable. 

Alexander wasn’t meeting his eyes, and John wanted nothing more than to stare into the beautiful violet abyss Alexander’s hands weren’t just resting on his chest, but had started to grasp the fabric of his coat.

Alexander took in a shaky breath. 

“John Laurens. I am Alexander Hamilton, and I am almost certain, despite having almost nothing to anchor this belief on, that you are my soulmate. If that is not that case, know that I will do whatever it takes to make up for this error. If I am correct, as I believe I am, I ask to see your wings - for I’m afraid that I’m the type of man that will only find comfort in physical evidence, despite how much of my life has been based around the written word.”

John took a step back, and he was a first-hand witness to what heart-break looked like on a human face. 

He closed his eyes, and slowly removed his coat - taking his time with the leather straps underneath. At some point his Alexander had closed his eyes, but when the metal buckles let out a thud when the hit the dirt, he looked up once more.

John kept his wings folded behind him until he saw understanding and hope bloom across Alexander’s features once more. His beautiful eyes were truly so expressive, and John wish he had the skill to properly capture the swirling depths. 

Letting out a breath, John tilted his head back and spread his wings. Alexander’s gasp was music to his ears. Not a moment had passed before he felt a hand on his cheek, directing his face downwards. 

Their eyes connected, and then so did their lips. Alexander had the sweetest taste, and John felt the passion he had been unknowingly seeking for so long. 

This is what he had been waiting for.

John had achieved his main goal, and knew that were a bullet to take him right in that moment, he’d die a happy man.


	2. And Sings The Tune Without The Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The time passed quickly as most of it was spent working. War was a pattern of waiting and rushing, but for an aide, the work was constant. There were always letters to be sorted through, treaties to read, and correspondence to send out. 
> 
> Their days were spent hunched over desks, and their nights were spent wrapped up in each other. 
> 
> The food might have been terrible, and the living conditions might have been the worst he had ever experienced, but John was happier than he had ever been."

Their happiness could only exist for them in their tent after the sun went down. During the day, Alex and John had to attend to their respective duties and keep all signs of affection to a minimum. There was only so much they could do to avoid one another, and they very quickly became known to the others as extremely close and nigh inseparable. 

Others might have commented on their friendship, but no one stepped in, and John was grateful. He was aware that while most knew better than to argue against fate, there were always those who insisted bonds between members of the same sex were never to be pursued. In those cases one was advised to find a nice widow girl who was in a similar situation. Thankfully John could always rely on Martha to cover his back.

Alexander was not so lucky. 

The time passed quickly as most of it was spent working. War was a pattern of waiting and rushing, but for an aide, the work was constant. There were always letters to be sorted through, treaties to read, and correspondence to send out. 

Their days were spent hunched over desks, and their nights were spent wrapped up in each other. 

The food might have been terrible, and the living conditions might have been the worst he had ever experienced, but John was happier than he had ever been. 

While working he was able to sit at Alexander’s side, and they would share conversations and jokes in quick touches and shared looks. No one questioned it. 

But then Alexander was announced dead.

John tried, he really did, He tried to hold back the anguish that filled him in that moment from showing itself, but he could not. He didn’t speak a word, and he didn’t feel his expression change, but it must have been in his eyes when he crumpled into a heap on the dirt. 

A piece of John died in that moment. His last words to Alexander had been a comment on looking forward to seeing him again - no meaningful phrase or powerful declaration of love. John hasn’t told Alex that he loved him, but Alex had to know, right. That wasn’t something you could just ignore, not the kind of love they shared. 

His wings would start to molt and then they would come back black. He would never be able to visit his father again with his wings unbound if he wanted to maintain the charade of Martha being his one and only love. 

Could John even remember what Alex looked like? Was he able to fully form Alex’s face in his mind’s eyes. He tried, but could not. He was never one for drawing for memory, but it had never been that much of a problem before. But oh, the last time he had fully taken in Alex in all of his glory had been that first night. He’d have to save his feathers to remember the particular shade of blue that had inspired his love from such a young age.

The feathers never looked the same when off the wing - everyone knew that - it was why Alex was able to get away with writing with quills from John’s wings. Without the movement and the other tones the feathers were flat and lifeless. John would never know again what Alex truly looked like. 

He must have blacked out, because the next thing John sees is the canvas roof of his and Alex’s tent. Lafayette is sitting across from him on Alex’s cot. John doesn’t like the sight, but doesn’t say anything. His jacket is hanging across the back of the chair, and John can feel that his wings are unbound.

His instinct is to sit up and spread his wings out to their full capacity behind him in a threatening manner. John didn’t listen to his instinct though, and instead stared evenly across the tent at Lafayette. Nothing needed to be said - they both knew what his wings meant, the color had always been unique. 

John didn’t know how Lafayette felt about the situation, but before he could ask Lafayette started to speak.

“We have both found a great friend in Hamilton, though I suppose you have found in him more than a friend. I am not going to say anything about this, and I promise that I removed your binding for your own comfort rather than my curiosity - though I will admit that I had my suspicions about this. I cannot imagine how you are feeling, though I find it odd to note that your wings have not started to molt.”

John was having difficulty forming a response, this was a much different reaction that expected. After spending so many years hearing his father’s vitriol, he thought this discovery would be greeted with harsh words and violent actions from the others. He did take comfort in knowing that Lafayette hadn’t just been snooping when he relieved John from the leather straps, but he found himself focusing more on the last sentence. 

“What do you mean my wings haven’t started to molt? Surely they’re half gone by now, I don’t imagine we were informed right away.”

He had overheard too many stories about women going to sleep physically perfect and then waking up with bare wings weeks before receiving notice of their husband’s death. John wasn’t stupid, he could tell by the sun filtering through the tent flaps that he has spent the rest of the the day and all of the night on his cot.

“I mean exactly what I said John Laurens, your wings have not yet molted. That might mean nothing, but do keep in mind that this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve received false reports - do you really want to trust the word of Charles Lee to base the rest of your life on.”

John was startled. He oh so wanted to grasp onto the hope that was starting to rise, but he also knew the pain would be so much harsher the moment the first feather fell.

“Do not give me false hope, Marquis.”

“I do not believe it to be false.”

And with those as his final words, Lafayette stood up with a grace John had yet to find anyone else possess, and left. 

The next couple of days went by and John went through the motions. The others gave him his space. They knew that he and Alex had been close, but it was only the General and Lafayette who had an inkling of just how close they had been. The more times the sun set and rose the more indecision filled John - Alex had yet to return, but his wings had yet to molt. Either Alexander Hamilton was never his soul mate, or Alexander Hamilton wasn’t dead. 

It was the latter that ended up being true.

Alex had walked into the camp filthy and damp, but a more welcome sight could not be imagined. John’s grin was ear-to-ear - the kind that was far too rare in these trying times - and Alexander’s answering one was just as bright. The other soldiers and aides greeted Alex with cheers, and John stayed behind. 

He didn’t need to verbalize how happy he was that Hamilton had returned, and judging by Lafayette’s hand on his shoulder, he was understood. 

That night, John simply held Alex in his arms for the longest time, whispering I love yous as the tears ran down his face. Alexander wasn’t much better, but that was okay. It didn’t matter they weren’t holding up the strong facade of a soldier - they had each other.

Alexander would always have John, but it would turn out that John wouldn’t always have Alexander. 

He met a girl at a ball, a girl who was in a situation much akin to theirs, but who had yet to find her soulmate. Her name was Elizabeth Schuyler. She had dark eyes that brimmed with compassion, and golden brown wings which framed her figure in the most flattering of manners.

John Laurens hated her. 

He knew that the Schuyler was not entering the marriage thinking Alex was her soulmate, and for that he was grateful. Alex didn’t have to lie to her and hide him. Elizabeth, lovingly called Betsey by his Alexander, was the most understanding of women. She considered Alex as doing her a favor - her father wanted her to marry before word got out of her proclivities. Elizabeth had the smallest rebellious streak, and decided to go after the soldier of no standing but with unfathomable potential.

She had insisted on meeting John, and John had agreed - he could never say no when Alex turned those eyes on him. She was sweet, kind, and charming. She wasn’t the type of woman Alex needed to rein him in, but John could sense that she’d be too good for him in the long run. He might love Alexander with all of his heart, but even John could recognize his numerous faults. 

Elizabeth could not - he could see it in the way she would look at Alex with the love in her gaze. Alex was so easy to fall in love with, so John could hardly blame her. He didn’t have to like it though.

Knowing about the impending nuptials wasn’t the most terrible - coming from a wealthy family, John knew that people would turn down their soul mates to maintain their status. It was terrible and not something spoken of in polite company, but it happened. It’s part of what fed the fuel of the philosophical flames questioning whether or not soulmates were even necessary. 

No, the most terrible thing was watching Alexander become enamoured with Elizabeth. 

He wasn’t any less in love with John, and that offered a strange sort of comfort. They’d still talk at night, and hold one another, whispering filthy and loving words equally. Sometimes those words would carry over into their actions, and they’d both struggle to keep quiet. 

Too often the conversation would turn to Alex’s dearest Betsey. John hated being tied to her in such a manner. He was Alex’s dearest Laurens, and she was his dearest Betsey. 

John never spoke a word though - he would do nothing to steal the happiness from his love’s gaze. Oh how he loved those eyes. 

Sometimes he wondered if Alex looked at him the same way he looked at Alex. John didn’t think he was capable of disguising the pain he constantly carried with him from his own eyes, and yet Alexander never questioned it or made any move to comfort him.

He just kept going and going and going.

John didn’t attend the wedding, instead going to South Carolina to work on gathering the coloured troops. 

Alexander wrote him letters, and John treasured each and every single one of them. Alex had always smelled faintly of ink and parchment, so even the smell of the letters made John feel closer. He’d always read the beginning, and then the signature. The rest of it he’d skim over, tracing his fingers over the writing - not to understand but simply to hold something Alex has spent time and energy on.

He didn’t want to hear the stories of his dearest wife and unborn son. 

He didn’t need to break just yet.


	3. And Never Stops At All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It explained so much - everything he had been fighting so hard to deny.
> 
> He had tried to pass the molting of his wings as stress - the lord knew he had plenty of that. It was so easy to ignore the fact that wings didn’t molt except for the death of your soul mate - Alex had always been different, why should this stray from that patter.

Alexander Hamilton was not a stupid man. He knew he hurt John when he chose to marry Elizabeth, but it was also the best way for him to advance. He had things he wanted to do, and these were things he was unable to do as some penniless orphan immigrant. He was still an orphan, and he was still an immigrant - but now he had Betsey’s dowry and the status that came with marrying into a family of the Schuyler’s status.

Washington kept denying him command, and it was looking like he was going to leave the war either dead or as nothing more than an aide-de-camp - he had to marry her. John had said he understood, but Alexander could see in his eyes that he did not.

Alexander couldn’t blame him - he can’t imagine how he would have reacted if John went out and got married. Much less gracefully, that’s for sure.

Sometimes Alexander would write something, and instantly wonder how he could possibly think in such a manner. But something always bubbled up inside of him and demand he put the words on paper. 

All those letters he had sent to John questioning why he had yet to respond.

He would send it out and regret it, worried about sounding needy. After all, Alexander was the one who left John for Betsy. It didn’t matter that Betsey wasn’t his soul mate - that John truly was his one and only - his Betsey certainly wasn’t difficult to fall in love with. Alexander had always fallen in love too easily. 

So did Betsey. He could see it in the way she looked at him - she had fallen in love too.

It was a dangerous situation.

Too much of his heart was still dedicated towards his truest of loves, his dearest John Laurens. 

And then he got the letter, from none other than John’s father, one Henry Laurens.

Alexander had heard John saying that Henry didn’t approve of their type of relationships - the unnatural kind. John had said that Henry was under the impression that John was normally oriented. 

That wasn’t the case.

Alexander had never expected to get a letter from John’s father, and yet that was what was in his hand waiting to be read. 

Eliza was looking over his shoulder. 

He pushed her away. 

It explained so much - everything he had been fighting so hard to deny.

He had tried to pass the molting of his wings as stress - the lord knew he had plenty of that. It was so easy to ignore the fact that wings didn’t molt except for the death of your soul mate - Alex had always been different, why should this stray from that patter. 

And no one quite knew how the wings worked - how they knew. But maybe if a feather was pulled out a black one grew in its place. That wasn’t true, but that’s the possibility Alexander had been considering. 

Denial is very powerful - the type of thing that makes a man ignore the black feathers on his own back. He used to wear his emerald coats to bring out the green and gold in his wings - oh how it came out in John’s eyes when the sun was shining. His eyes were beautiful; John was beautiful. 

Now he wore green - brighter shades than ever before - to bring out the contrast between that verdant shade and the inky abyss that now graced his back. People avoided him at first - widowers were bad luck. 

And Alexander was so young. And married.

He threw himself into his work, what else could he do. He couldn’t look at Eliza without feeling a chord of pain strike in his heart. After all, if it wasn’t for her, he might have been with John and he wouldn’t have died.

John would still be here if he hadn’t been hungry for any scrap of status to hang onto. 

Perhaps Alexaner would be the one being buried in the soulless earth instead of his love. He deserved it, John had the spirit in him to make changes. He had such big dreams, the world deserved John Laurens. And yet, it was stuck with the empty shell that was now Alexander Hamilton.

So he worked and worked and worked and worked.

He was rarely home - but it didn’t matter. He didn’t have a soulmate to come home to. He had a wife and children born of the worst kind of disloyalty. He had betrayed his soulmate - the man who was made for his very being, just for him - and dared to find some speck of happiness in someone else. And she had done the same.

Alexander hoped Elizabeth found her soulmate. For her sake. He had been ignoring her - and while she might be part of the reason he had grown apart from John, she deserved happiness. He just wasn’t going to let her find it in him.

And then his family went upstate without him.

He never had great impulse control, and that only grew more true when he was stressed, tired, and alone.

Maria Reynolds was the perfect distraction. Her wings were the deepest of browns - flat enough to appear black when not in direct light. They reminded him of something, but he never cared enough to figure out just what.

He spent his time burying himself and his pain and his troubles in Miss Maria. 

Her husband found out, and then so did the world. 

So did Eliza.

She insisted on meeting the woman who he had taken in their bed. They did share a love, even if they weren’t soulmates, and she was hurt. He couldn’t blame her. Alexander had done a terrible thing, and even worse, the only remorse he felt was for the pamphlet - not the action.

Maria had been his reprieve from life, and then he had to let her go, and then expose her in the worst way possible. She was so young, but that hadn’t stopped him.

Alexander wasn’t sure what it would have taken.

John, it would have taken his dearest John to stop him. 

But John wasn’t here.

Alex was ashamed to say that it took Eliza and Maria being in the same room for him to make the connection - and he wasn’t sure if he actually figured it out before them or not. There was a reason Maria’s eyes and wings were familiar.

He had expected to have to sit through the most awkward of confrontations, and while that did happen, there was a lot more surprised joy once their hands brushed. 

It was common knowledge that there was very little as beautiful to witness as a pair of soulmates meeting.

Alexander wasn’t sure how true that was. Sure, it was beautiful - true love and self-discovery usually was. But the only thing he could focus on was the awkwardness of the situation.

It wasn’t every day you discovered your wife and mistress were soul mates, after all.

They were happy, for a week. The outside world didn’t exist to them. Alexander slept in his office - not due to Eliza’s anger, but rather to give her and Maria the bed for the evenings. Eliza had forgiven in a way - not entirely, he had betrayed her (and John) in one of the worst possible ways, after all - because she had taken on the belief that she wouldn’t have met Maria if he hadn’t brought her into her life.

But eventually the outside world worms it’s way into every little private heaven. 

It came in the form of James Reynolds.

He was willing to forgive Maria’s absence for a short amount of time given the circumstances - time he used to garner pity for his whore wife’s actions. But now he wanted her back, and no one wanted Maria to go. 

She wanted a divorce. 

And Alexander had just the guy.

Aaron Burr was a magnificent lawyer, especially in these kinds of tricky situations. 

He was able to keep a cool head at all times, and had a particular gift for keeping his opinions and beliefs to himself - something Alexander admired almost as much as he opposed.

Maria Reynold’s divorce was a very tricky situation, and one that James Reynolds was doing his best to take advantage of. After all, it was his wife that had stepped out on him - she should be grateful he still had any interest in keeping her in his life. She should rightfully be shoved out onto the street with nothing but the clothes on her back - which he made a habit of reminding everyone that he had paid for.

Nevermind that the money he used was the money he had gotten from blackmailing Alexander - that didn’t matter.

He hired Aaron Burr, and not that much time passed before Maria Reynolds was once again Maria Lewis.

They took on the most scandalous of living situations - taking your husband’s former mistress into your home was not acceptable - and Alexander was lonelier than ever before.

John was long gone, and Eliza and Maria had found comfort in each other.

Their lifestyle was never accepted by society, but it had become one of those things that people realized wasn’t going to change. They found their own sort of normal. Alexander was far from being praised after the affair went public, but his work and opinions were still respected in the right circles. The children were growing up wonderfully, and Eliza and Maria were doing whatever it was that they spent their days doing.

That normal was ripped apart the day that Philip asked him for advice on a duel.

Alexander was not a man to regret many of his actions - but he would wish nothing more than to take back what he said to his son on that day. 

He was a hurricane that destroyed everything in its path - his mother, his soulmate, his son, his wife - nothing went unharmed.

And everyone knew that every storm died out eventually.

Alexander’s death was just a bit more purposeful.

Burr’s challenge was everything he didn’t know he was hoping for, and he planned on taking full advantage of it. 

He wore his glasses, he practiced his aim, he adjusted the triggers and taunted Burr by fiddling with him. 

It was a miracle Burr managed to wait until the count of ten.

He had waited so long to be greeted with Lauren’s soldiers’ chorus. The bullet hit him, and his wings instantly wrapped around him in an attempt for protection. He was surrounded by the dark feathers that he hated so much. 

It was fitting that when he died he found only an endless abyss - so reminiscent of the wings he tried to deny. There was no sign of his John, no golden gates.

Just himself.

Alexander supposes that he should have known better than to believe that others would be there for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down to write a one-shot, but decided that this deserves more than that.
> 
> Please feel free to come pester me at my tumblr: ashilrak
> 
> I'd love to know what you think!
> 
> <3 <3 <3 <3 <3


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